


Half-Sick of Shadows

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6381937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out flew the web and floated wide- the mirror crack'd from side to side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Sick of Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on fanfiction.net in 2014 and is now being crossposted here along with the rest of my work. Sorry about this sad fic. A part of me will always root for Mary and Matthew. My ship may be at the bottom of the ocean but that's why we have scuba gear.

Mary blew out the candle and climbed into bed, the moonlight now the only source of light from the window. She felt immeasurably drowsy after the long day, and welcomed the web of sleep that wove across her eyelids, drawing her deeper under the covers. The bed dipped, and she felt his weight settle in beside her. A moment later, and cold fingers floated across the bed, ghosting over her arm.

"Don't even think about it," she warned. "I'm going to sleep."

"Just trying to warm up. It's freezing tonight," he replied, the cheeky asshole.

Mary lay there stubbornly for a moment, but then fingers jabbed at her sides, tickling her ribs, and her body betrayed her as she curled up helplessly.

"All right!" She laughed, her breathless words taking any venom out of her. She turned and scooted inwards, feeling him do the same until they were both in the middle of the bed. She laid her head on his chest, feeling his fingers trail through her hair. She didn't bother complaining to him that he was messing up her braid--they both knew she didn't care. His chest rose and fell, his heartbeat under her ear the most comforting sound she'd ever heard. It felt like the beat of the earth, steady and sure and unending.

"You seemed upset at dinner," he noted, the hand not tangled in her hair trailing spirals up and down her spine, underneath her clothes.

"It was just Edith, being… Edith," she admitted. "And me just being me." Without Sybil as a buffer, and the crush of being left at the altar still hanging from her heart like a deadweight, Edith had no qualms about letting Mary know when she was being--well, a word that wasn't said outside of a kennel.

"You being you?"

"Oh, you know…" She felt her breath hitch as his hands guided her to sit up, the loose nightgown slipping up and over her head. "Cold, heartless."

"Cold? Heartless?" His smile was like a sliver of moonlight. "Not my Mary."

"Yes, well," she explained, unbuttoning his shirt. "There's your Mary, and then there's the Mary that everyone else has to put up with."

He kissed her, his lips hot against hers, the inside of his mouth even hotter. "Maybe you should let others see what I see," he suggested.

"What, like this?" She raised her arms up over her head and shimmied her shoulders a little.

He laughed. She loved that laugh, and that she was the one who could make it bubble out of him. Even when she'd thought she'd hated him, thought he'd hated her just as much, she'd been able to make him laugh like that. It was her favorite sound.

"No," he growled, his hands gripping her waist and turning her, pinning her under him on the mattress. "Nobody gets to see this but me."

She shivered delightedly. "I should hope so. Can't have a scandal."

He kissed her again, just to shut her up, but he was laughing as he did so. She drank in his laughter, nipping the last of it from his lips, her hands smoothing over his broad shoulders and carding through his hair. She could feel him against her thigh and she hummed appreciatively, her hands sliding down his back to push him up against her, thrusting her hips against his. He groaned.

"I was trying to make a point," he muttered, kissing a line down her throat.

"I think you've made it," she replied, letting her legs fall more open.

He chuckled around a mouthful of her shoulder. "I meant… about how people see you."

"Does it matter?" Her voice came out as a gasp, her head falling back as his mouth moved farther down her body. "The only person who's opinion of me I care about it you."

He refused to answer that for a good few minutes, instead focusing on moving his mouth against her skin. He was driving her mad with how he teased her, ignoring her searching hands and rolling hips in favor of placing several red marks on her breasts.

"Matthew," she warned. "If you don't-"

He paused, looking up at her. His eyes shone with mischief. "You'll what?"

She chewed on her lip. "I'm not sure yet, but I'll think of something to punish you with."

He chuckled, crawling up to bump their noses together. "Well, in that case…"

She wound her arms around his neck, his face burrowed into the crook of her neck and shoulder as he reached down, aligning himself with her. She barely felt any discomfort, and she knew it was because they did this so often, her body becoming accustomed to him, but she couldn't find it within herself to blush. She loved this man. Loved him in a way that had scared her at first, and sometimes still did. She didn't see what was scandalous or improper about expressing that love.

She didn't realize she'd had her eyes closed until his hand caressed her cheek, cradling it in his palm. "Mary," he whispered. "Look at me."

She did so, opening her eyes. His face swum into view in front of her, and she wondered when she'd begun crying.

"I want people to see you as I see you," he whispered, slowly beginning to move. "I want them to see the marvelous things that I see. I want them to see how brave and strong you are, how stubborn and intelligent, how loving, how warm…"

She tried to turn her head away, the onslaught of praise too much, but he brought it other hand up and held her face in place, looking into her eyes. He was still moving tortuously slowly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist to encourage him to go faster. She felt entangled, ensnared his in limbs and his love.

"I love you, Mary, and I want other people to see why."

He kissed her, warm and sweet and deep, and she held him as tightly as she could. She knew her nails would leave marks in his skin but she didn't care, she wanted them to be there. She caught a flash of them in the mirror, of his broad back covering her, encompassing her, before her eyes slid closed and she pressed her mouth against his jaw, kissing him over and over again.

"If it's what you want," she whispered, her mouth right at his ear. "If it's what you want, then I'll try. I promise I'll try."

The tears were still flowing down her face. Was this what happiness was? Full to bursting that tears just had to come because the sensation was too much? So desperate to hold on, fearful that you would lose this precious thing and become empty again?

He moved faster within her, and she gripped him with all of her might, moving with him like a ship pitches and rolls with the waves in a storm. She was caught up in him, in the words he was whispering in her ear, words of love and devotion and praise, praise for who she was and who she could be.

"I love you," he told her. "Remember that. Remember that I'll always love you."

She nodded, closing her eyes. "I love you too," she whispered.

She wondered why it sounded like goodbye.

His body stuttered within hers and she gasped, head flung back, pleasure seeping into her through him, filling her up and drowning her, cracking all composure and shattering it until there was nothing left but light and shadow and sensation.

She opened her eyes despite the tears stinging them. They ran down her cheeks, staining them and wetting the pillow. The moonlight glimmered at her like a cruel joke. The mirror only held one reflection: her own. And the spot beside her was cold and empty, as it had been for a year.

Mary reached out, her hand brushing the pillow next to hers, imagining fingers curling around hers in answer. Another dream. Another painful dream, woven out of shadows and bittersweet memories and wishful thinking. Another remembrance of the love she'd once had, the one she'd lost, and the man she'd promised.

"I've been trying," she whispered. "I love you, so I've been trying."

She tried to smile and failed, her body curling in on itself in a vain attempt to protect from pain.

"I always will."

Tears paved the road that she took back to slumber.


End file.
